Broken
by Hazey Rine
Summary: It wasn't because she didn't believe in fairytales, it was because it felt like they taunted her, teased her, reminded her oh so painfully that she had no prince- she had no spring time reaper.


**Title: Broken **

**Summary: It wasn't because she didn't believe in fairytales, it was because it felt like they taunted her, teased her, reminded her oh so painfully that she had no prince- she had no spring time reaper.**

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_I may never get to hold you so tight. __I may never get to kiss you goodnight_

_I may never get to look deep in your eyes. __I'll always will be wishing you were mine_

_I think about what could be all the time. __All the happiness that I could fine_

_A girl can dream_

The library was as silent as silent could be, and it upset Victorique to new levels of irritation. With a loud sigh, she stood up from the bench she had been sitting on before making her way to the elevator. She shouldn't have waited- she knew better than to expect him to actually come when he had his days filled with appointments that no longer involved her.

The solitude coming off of her was more than obvious and more than infectious as she passed by multiple shelves and books. Books she no longer wished to hold, books she no longer wished to read. They bore so many painful memories, though nothing in her head involved whatever could have possibly been written in those words. There were only things she remembered whenever she held such titles in her hands. Great and thick novels she'd been reading the times he'd come to visit her, with either a mystery or a present.

She missed those times.

Victorique glanced around the large area of the now abandoned library. Never again did she wish to return, but it wasn't like she had a choice. Everywhere else, _he _was there- in the halls, walking around the school, up in a tree. It was stupid and annoying and so epically bittersweet. The place where she had once been so happy, once been able to smile, was the place that brought her so much sorrow, and such sweet mirth.

The walk back to her house was more than enough time for her to sift through her thoughts. When exactly had everything changed? When did things and feelings differ? Had she pushed him to the point he could no longer keep up with her? No longer tolerate her bratty ways and her spoiled demeanor? Was she no longer enough? Did it matter that she wished not to put her hair in such short lengths? Did it matter that her eyes were such an abnormal viridian? Did he not like the fact that she was so short?

No- of course not. He wasn't like that. Not like that at all.

Then what was it?

Victorique stared down at her hands, the skin smooth and free of scratches. She_ loathed_ her hands. She wished they were rougher, wished they were indeed marked with scratches and wounds- the markings she'd received when they'd gone on their adventures. Something… something to remind her that once upon a time, he held her hand and she held onto the ground just to pull him away from his death.

To think, the person she helped escape death- was the very same person making her welcome death as she walked through a maze towards her home.

Her outrageously pink home greeted her as she neared the edge of her home and she let out another tired sigh, not at all surprised. The sun was beginning to set as she shut the door behind her, and letting the barest of cracks in her void masked slip into breaking the entire thing, slump against the door and let out a broken sob.

She _hated _being like this.

He plagued her mind, her dreams, her words, her actions, her food, her clothes- everywhere! You could see Kujo everywhere. Her kimonos had multiplied by the dozen (courtesy of Cecille and Sophie who managed to stole a way out of the school and towards the harbor where many merchants sold dazzling objects from lands far away), her food preference had gone to a lot of sticky rice balls and her words often slipped in loud tenses. She was different, she was changing- all because of him.

Victorique slipped out of her Victorian dress and into a new kimono with the dull color of brown and black. It was something hard to let go- that color. It reminded her a lot of him- his eyes, his hair. That shaggy unkempt mane that ought to have been chopped away a long time ago (not that she minded how beautifully it waved in the breeze).

Settling on her bed, she stared at the books stacked on her dresser. Could she handle it? Handle seeing those yet again when just last night she'd promised herself she'd never lay her eyes on those damn pictures and books ever again? Was the joy and hope she received enough to save her from the crushing pain she would later feel afterwards?

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

Victorique reached a hand out, but hesitated.

* * *

_"Victorique…"_

_"Victorique?"_

_"Victorique!"_

_The poor blonde couldn't concentrate. She shook her head and stared at the man in front of her, brown chocolate eyes and all. He offered her a small broken smile before handing her the white piece of paper. Everything was in there- he needn't say anymore, so he turned and left. _

_Victorique stared at the white piece of parchment and traced the intricate writing with her small finger- such beautiful words… killed her._

* * *

Yes.

Victorique grabbed for the first book and flipped it open, scouring it, burying her every thought into every word. A fairytale book was the last thing she wanted to hold, the last thing she wanted to preoccupy her as she struggled onward. It reminded her one too many times of how stupid it was to wait, of how stupid it was to hope- but this was Victorique de Blois we were talking about, no other girl could be as stubborn as she.

Reading on through the night, everything came rushing back to her, and though she hated it, she welcomed it. The rush of his voice, the rush of his words, the feelings she got whenever he held her hand, carried her around, boosted her up, took a blow for her, smiled- oh god his _smile_. Just how fantastic could one memory make her feel?

Victorique went to sleep with a smile on her face that night or maybe morning since her clock screamed that it was in fact one in the morning. Her chest rose and fells steadily and her long blonde hair fell down her back, a beautiful contrast to the brown kimono so wore.

Her dreams consisted of him and her, together, when in reality…

_You are cordially invited,_

_To Kujo Kazuya and Avril Bradley's_

_Wedding_

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**AN: Many thanks to those who reviewed my last story! I didn't expect seven reviews for "Wanting" XD. I feel so happy :3 This one was written thanks to you guys so I hope you enjoyed it... despite the fact that I just hurt our dear Victorique-san~. **

**Admittedly- not one of my best. I think I could have done more to emphasize what Victorique was feeling and most likely this was rushed but, yeah. So thoughts? **

**Azu~ **


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